Then again, as long as I stay in my room, no one will be the wiser. The first class can stretch out on their chaise longues eating bonbons all day if they wish. This is the perfect hideout. Mum raised me not to tell fibs, but if Ba were here, he would be cackling with glee. If there was anything he liked better than getting something for free, it was getting it from someone who had done him dirty. White Star Line refused me entry, after all my expense and trouble, causing me to putmy life and limbs in great jeopardy. By my thinking, they still owe me.
Steward Latimer pulls apart the lace curtains. “This room hasn’t been aired yet. I’ll crack the window.” A gentle sea breeze filters in. Probably even the breezes here are more refined than in third class.
That done, the steward circles the room, pointing out the furnishings. “Light switches there, heating fan—just press this button—fresh towels in the cabinet. Further amenities include the Turkish baths, which are a feast for the eyes—aquamarine tiles, bronze lamps from the Middle East. We’ve got a swimming pool, a squash court, and a gymnasium.”
I catch him trying to sneak a look behind my veil. “Do I look like someone who needs exertion?” I say, more forcibly than necessary.
“O-of course not.” He glances at a writing table. “Dinner is served at six o’clock in the dining room on D-Deck. We didn’t realize you were staying with us, or we’d have left the daily menu, but I make it a point to remember the fixings. Tonight, we have oysters, consommé Olga, salmon mousseline, chicken lyonnaise, roast duckling, chateau potatoes, foie gras and celery, Waldorf pudding, and vanilla eclairs. You’ll hear the ship’s bugler wandering the decks, calling out mealtime.”
The alligator in my belly snarls, even though I didn’t understand half of what he just said. I didn’t eat but a few milk biscuits this morning. But a stowaway cannot socialize with thefirst class, even if the stowaway has never tried foie gras. Even Ba wouldn’t be so reckless.
“I’m sure the food is exquisite. But I’m afraid I will not be in the mood for much socializing. Do you have anything more, er, private?”
“The À la Carte Restaurant and Café Parisien provide refreshment throughout the day. You may also order pastries and tea to your room. Pay the tab with the purser at journey’s end.”
Another opportunity for sinning opens her arms to me. A free line of pastry credit.
A knock comes at the door, and the young porter Baxter appears with Mrs. Sloane’s steamer trunk, a sturdy chest with oak straps and metal hinges. The sight of it is like a reassuring pat on the back.
Steward Latimer takes the trunk from him. “Fetch Mrs. Sloane a welcome plate.”
“Yes, sir.” Baxter makes a hasty exit.
The steward hauls the trunk to a wooden rack and, in one smooth motion, heaves it up. But with a click, it pops open, and its contents tumble free.
A cloisonné vase containing snuff tobacco that Mrs. Sloane purchased for her brother drops onto the carpet and rolls. I’d wrapped the vase with twine so the lid would not come off.
Steward Latimer rushes to stop the vase from rolling farther. “Oh dear, oh dear. We must be making a terrible impression on you.” For a first-class steward, he is all thumbs. But there is an earnestness about him, like a tuft of hair thatrefuses to bend to pomade. He holds out the vase, a horrified expression tightening his face. “Is this...?”
It takes me a moment to understand. “Yes, it is. Set Percival there. He likes a good window view.”
Steward Latimer sets the vase down and quickly steps back. “Both my first wife and my daughter passed the same year thirteen years ago, but it feels like yesterday.”
“Oh? I am sorry.” Guilt straddles my shoulders, as my deception grows thorns.
He nods, his Adam’s apple rising.
I sweep up Mrs. Sloane’s clothes, thinking of my parents. “It feels like you’ve been gulled when they’re taken early like that.”
His eyes go bright. “That’s exactly how it feels.” He sets the trunk properly on the rack. “If I hadn’t found my Jennie, well, I’d be hiding behind a veil, too.”
“I amnothiding,” I say a little too strenuously.
The cuttlefish turns red again. “O-of course not. I only meant, I understand how you feel.”
Baxter returns with a silver platter. On it, candied fruit glitters like the queen’s jewels. There’s also a dish of buttery cheese and a basket of bread rolls so airy looking you could probably toss them up and not worry about catching them again until the next day. Baxter sets the tray on a table, then slips out of the room again.
“If there’s something else you’d like, please do not hesitate to ring this bell for service.” Steward Latimer points to a gold button above my bed. At last, he gives me a kind smile, thenbacks into the hallway. “I’ll be sure to inform the staff about missing your entrance and giving away your room.”
“Please do not trouble yourself. All’s well that ends well.”
“Oh, but I must. Someone’s head will roll, believe it.”
I grimace. May the head in question not be the one on my shoulders.
8
After closing the door and locking it, I whip off my hat, glancing around in disbelief at the kingdom I’ve inherited. I nibble a gold coin of orange, cherries that glitter like rubies, and a slice of silvery pear.
